A Long Enough Timeline
by siriusondrun
Summary: Constant confrontation leads to an expectable conclusion between Dave and Kurt, alone in a room after PFLAG.


**A/N: I'm not dead! Yay! Have a fic!**

**Disclaimer: Glee's not mine.**

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><p>"I want you to hit me as hard as you can."<p>

The sentence was past his lips before he could stop it. Kurt stared at him, bewildered. Dave put his hands in his pockets and relaxed his shoulders as if it wasn't a big deal. Like it was just the first snarky thing he could think to retort at the other boy. Partly true, he supposed. Dave always stayed after PFLAG meetings to clean and stack chairs in a vain attempt to distract from the fact that he never said anything; Kurt, as head of the chapter, never left until everyone else was gone. This gave Kurt the perfect opportunity to put on The Bitchface(TM) and demand in that overwound sharp voice what Dave "really wanted to get out of this."

For Dave's part, nothing else ever came to mind. Sitting around and talking about shit, that was Kurt's world; the realm of gentle, rational civility. Dave wasn't the negotiations type. He came from a world of full-contact sports and solving problems by punching the other guy harder than he punched you. Kurt could keep his cavalier declarations of Out-And-Proud and his helmet-haired hobbit boyfriend; Dave just wanted to duke it out once and for all.

Kurt stared at him like he'd grown another head.

"What?" Kurt said, scandalized.

"Hit me," Dave said. "Anywhere but the crotch. Free shot, no strings attached."

Kurt eyed him. "Why?"

"Maybe it'll make you feel better," Dave said. It felt a little thrilling to know he'd knocked Kurt so thoroughly off-balance with something so simple. "Hit me. Hard as you can."

"But _why_?" Kurt said. "What purpose could that possibly have? I told you already, I know you're sorry, you don't owe me anything." They both knew that was a lie, but neither commented.

"It doesn't _have_ to serve a purpose," Dave said. "Didn't you ever see that movie? It's stress relief. Unwinding a little, going to your grave with a few battle scars, all that good stuff." Kurt's nose wrinkled at the mention of scarring. "Just do it," Dave said, opening his arms wide to present a target for Kurt.

Kurt's hand tightened for just a moment before he relaxed and shook his head. "No," he said. "I'm not going to just hit you, it's barbaric," he said. Dave sighed and was halfway through an eyeroll when Kurt continued. "If we're going to do this, we're going to fight properly," he said with a sniff. He shucked his tapestry-patterned vest and set to rolling up his white button-up's sleeves.

It was Dave's turn to stare dumbly at Kurt. "You...huh?" he blurted.

Kurt's Bitchface was back, newly-revealed pale arms crossing over his chest. "You're not going to just stand there like a lump while I hit you, Dave," he said as if it was the most obvious thing. "It's unsporting and stupid. If we're going to do this, we're going to do this." He arched one perfect eyebrow. "Are we going to do this?"

Dave snorted. "No offense, dude, but I'd splatter you in a fair fight," he said. Trust Kurt to find a way to turn even _this_ back on him and make it suck, he thought bitterly. Kurt didn't budge; Dave hadn't really expected him to.

"I think you might be surprised. 'Skinny guys fight til they're burger', right?"

Dave coughed out a disbelieving laugh. "You've—fuck, dude," he said. "Seriously?"

Kurt grinned, and behind the superiority there was a glint of genuine mirth. Dave shrugged out of his letterman jacket and kicked a row of chairs out of the way to widen the fighting space. "No holding, nothing above the neck or below the belt," he said, tugging the hem of his polo out of his jeans so it wouldn't restrict his movement.

"Come even _close_ to punching me in the throat and I will have no compunction in castrating you," Kurt added as he rolled his shoulders.

Dave cracked his knuckles and tried not to feel weird about this. After all the shirt he'd put Kurt through last year it didn't really feel right to hit him even as the need to declare a winner once and for all burned. He'd let Kurt get in the first shot, he thought; he'd be able to gauge how easy to go on the other boy if he went second. This was still more about getting Kurt loosened up than punching the crap out of anyone, he reminded himself. "Whenever you're ready," he said, making a show of putting up his fists.

As it turned out, it had been a spectacular oversight on his part to think this wouldn't be a real fight. Someone had definitely taught Kurt how to punch and make it hurt like hell. Kurt's first shot was low and sharp, catching Dave in the solar plexus; fire spiderwebbed up his side as air hissed from his lungs. He looked up a Kurt, who smirked, fists raised, and went in for a second shot.

The fight was a tangled flurry in Dave's mind even when it was going on. Fists and elbows and shoulders flailed and connected with every bit of one another that could be reached, a few dirty shots catching the edges of jaws or skirting dangerously close to groins. It was the most gloriously, thrillingly pointless thing Dave had ever done, set to the soundtrack of fist on skin echoing off the empty room's walls. Kurt more than held his own, matching Dave shot for shot. Dave found himself both impressed and galled; Kurt had known all along how to fight and had never once so much as made a move against him last year. He had to wonder how he would have faired if Kurt had been just a little less civilized.

It all came a jolted end as Kurt landed another punch to Dave's sternum and made to grab Dave's hair as he lost his breath. Dave grabbed Kurt's shirt front in retaliation and the two of them toppled gracelessly to the floor. The smacking noise and the cold linoleum against his cheek broke Dave's concentration and he met Kurt's eyes. The other boy's eyes were blazing and alive and impossibly blue as he panted. Kurt's face split into a grin and Dave matched it. They rolled onto their backs, wiping sweat from the foreheads and necks. Ribs ached and heaved as they both laughed haltingly.

"Fuck," Kurt breathed. Dave was sure it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever heard the other boy say. He grunted an agreement as adrenaline pulsed in him. It wasn't a resolution, but god_damn_ if he didn't feel better now. "Dave?" Kurt murmured.

"Mmm?" Dave said, closing his eyes to savor the ache in his body.

"Thanks." Dave snorted and blindly extended a fist to bump. Kurt returned the gesture, hissing a little as he did. "Ow."

Dave cracked open an eye to see Kurt wincing and shaking his right hand, the knuckles of which were raw and swelling. "Lead with your wrist next time," Dave said, demonstrating with his own hand straight up in the air. Kurt snorted rather ungracefully.

"I'll keep that in mind," he replied dryly. He seemed oddly sedate now, sprawled long-limbed and slack on the floor like a sleepy, contented cat. Those superlong eyelashes fanned on flushed cheeks as Kurt's eyelids fluttered closed. Deep somewhere in the urges Dave never liked to set free he had a sudden sharp yearning to kiss the bizarrely beautiful boy beside him. Very, very slowly Dave reached out his hand across the floor towards Kurt's.

"Kurt, are you still here?" The whipcrack moodkiller of Blaine's voice made Dave's hand retreat so quickly he thought there might have been a small sonic boom. The slick-haired head of the cockblocking interloper came into upside-down view, bemused but smiling mildly as ever. Dave had never wanted to punch that face more in his life.

"What're you up to, babe?" Blaine asked, plopping down in a chair and brushing a lock of hair from Kurt's forehead. Kurt opened his eyes and beamed, tangling his fingers with Blaine's.

"Nothing," he said. "Time for coffee?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Help me up?"

Kurt clambered to his feet and Dave sat up, feeling a little cheated as Kurt brushed himself off and redressed. He watched from the floor as Kurt and Blaine linked hands and wandered towards the door. The familiar burn of repressed jealousy began to boil in his stomach, but before he left Kurt turned back to look at Dave. There was a spark of something still burning in those eyes left over from the fight, and his smile was easier, almost casual. He waved wordlessly, eyes scanning the cleared place in the floor and over Dave, and then was gone.


End file.
